


The Joy They Had Found

by xube



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1983, BAMF Mary Winchester, Baby, Baby Sam Winchester, Birth in Impala, Childbirth, Gen, Impala, Kid Dean Winchester, Kid Fic, May 2, Pregnancy, Sprinkler, heat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xube/pseuds/xube
Summary: May 2, 1983“Mary, you’re in labor, you can’t drive yourself to the hospital.”Mary turned to her friend and raised her eyebrows obstinately. “Watch me.” She sat in the driver's seat and slammed the door.





	The Joy They Had Found

**The Joy they had Found**

 

Lawrence, KS

May 2, 1983

 

Hot was an understatement. Sunrise saw a temperature of 79, by 9 am the mercury was dug in at 86 degrees.

As the Monday slowly began, the town pulled itself out of its heat-induced stupor. Blue-collared workers with faded name tags trudged into stifling garages and construction spaces across the city. Men in wide shouldered suits turned their fans on high and dabbed away the sweat on their brows. Secretaries in pencil skirts pulled down office blinds against the glare of the sun.

On the south side of town, a small, freckle-faced kid squealed with delight as his mother showered him with the garden hose. He ran back and forth under the spray, bare feet pattering through the grassy puddles in the yard.

“Here, baby, take this from Mommy.” His mother handed him the hose. “Go fill up the kiddie-pool.”

He grabbed the hose, spraying water across his mother’s sundress as he turned to pull it toward the blue plastic basin.

“Careful, Dean!” she cried. Mary huffed as she reached over to grab the threadbare beach towel from the ground beside her lawn chair. She dabbed at the splashes on her round belly.

A voice cut through the heat,  “Now you two have got the right idea!” Mary turned to watch her plump neighbor shuffle her way up their sidewalk.

“I don't know, Irene, the right idea might be moving to _Canada_ at this point. It's only the second day of May, God knows what it will be like when summer actually rolls around.”

Mary sighed as she lifted her swollen feet onto the green cooler in front of her and resituated her sun visor.

“That would certainly be nicer for you,” Irene said, as she sat in the lawn chair beside Mary. “Being big and pregnant during a warm spell is no fun. Martin was born during the winter; it was no picnic but it certainly beat my pregnancy with Leah …  she was born in August. I don't know what I would have done if Jerry hadn’t paid for pool passes that summer.”

“Oh, a pool sounds so nice right now.” Mary threw her head back in envy. “There's still several weeks ‘til they open, though. Sammy will be here by then.”

“Any thoughts on whether Sammy is going to be short for Samuel or Samantha?”

Mary laughed. “John is convinced it’s a girl; Dean says with certainty that it’s a boy. I'm not so sure. Whatever Sammy is, they’ve certainly got a future as an Olympic gymnast. They’ve already mastered the cart-wheel and back-handspring. I’ve been aching and cramping all morning thanks to yesterday's practice session.”

“Well, I can help you price vaults and spring-boards when the time comes,” Irene said with a smirk.

“I appreciate that,” Mary said dryly. “Dean, that's enough water in the pool, baby. Can you turn the water off by yourself?”

“Yes, Mommy.” Dean dropped the hose and galloped to the spigot.

“Turn it to the right, toward the Henderson’s house.” Mary leaned forward to watch what Dean was doing. “No the other—yeah that's it.”

Dean struggled with the knob, his wet hands slipping off it.

“Oh, here.” Mary groaned as she pulled her feet off the cooler and pushed herself up. She waddled after her son, a hand on the small of her back. She supported herself against the house as she reached down to turn the knob.

As she stood she felt a splash on her legs. “Dean, you’re dripping water all over me.”

“What?” her son asked. Mary turned to see that Dean had already returned to the kiddie pool. Frowning, she looked down at the warm puddle forming at her feet.

“Oh, Mary!” Irene stood up and moved quickly to Mary’s side. “Looks like you’ll know if Sammy’s a boy or girl in a few hours.”

“What?” Mary asked densely. She looked back down at the water. _Water._ Oh. _Water!_

 

\---

 

“Okay, I talked to Mike at the garage. John is with Chuck, picking up parts in Lecompton. When he gets back, Mike will send him straight to the hospital.” Irene plopped down the front steps with Mary’s bag slung over her shoulder.

Mary grunted. She stood in the yard, supporting herself on the lawn chair muttering. “Okay. Okay-okay-okay-okay... Um, Irene,” she spoke up, “I need you to take Dean down to Rachelle’s house—down the street, she’ll watch him, then—hmph!” Her breath hitched as a contraction hit; she exhaled slowly. “This is happening so much faster than it did with Dean,” she murmured. Once she could stand up straight, she continued. “Then, I need you to go to the garage to pick up John when he gets back. He doesn't have a car there.”

Mary took the bag from Irene and began walking toward the Impala.

“Mommy?” Dean asked, watching her with worried eyes.

“Dean, baby, come here.” Dean barreled at his mother and threw his arms around her belly.

“Umph, careful. Dean give me your hand.” She placed his small hand underneath her belly where she knew he would feel Sam moving. “Sammy’s on her way out; Mrs. Irene’s going to take you to Mrs. Rachelle’s house. Daddy will come get you tonight.”

“When can I meet Sammy?” Dean asked, laying his head against her cramping stomach.

“I don't know yet, baby. Soon, probably tomorrow.”

“Okay. And… ‘his’” Dean looked up Mary.

“What?”

“You said ‘Sammy’s on _her_ way out’ but Sammy’s a boy, so it’s ‘ _his_ way out’.” Dean rubbed his nose against her swollen belly.

“Oh, okay,” Mary said breathily as her stomach cramped. “We’ll know for sure soon. Go to Mrs. Irene now.” Mary dropped her sun visor onto Dean’s head and turned to the car.

Irene followed Mary to the car. “Well, let me get you to the hospital first, than I can take care of Dean and John.”

“No. No-no-no-no- _NO_ , Irene. I need to know that you’re taking care of things.” She opened the driver door and heaved the bag into the passenger footwell.

“Mary, you’re in _labor_ , you can’t drive yourself to the hospital.”

Mary turned to her friend and raised her eyebrows obstinately. “Watch me.” She sat in the driver's seat and slammed the door.

 

\---

 

Dean’s birth hadn't been easy, but it was simple. In the early morning hours of January 24th, the pains had started. Mary didn't wake John yet, telling herself that it was just cramps or a false alarm, telling herself that she should get some rest before diving headfirst into this motherhood thing. Really, she was scared. To wake John would have been to admit that it was time. The moment she told John that the baby was on its way, her life would no longer be hers.

John’s alarm went off at 6:45. When John made his way to the bathroom, Mary rolled herself over so she could sit up. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting, when he came back to the bedroom. His eyes met hers.

“You okay?” he asked quietly. The room was dark and still; his whisper cut through the air.

“I think it’s time, John.”

Giving birth to Dean had been straightforward, typical. The sun was rising as they pulled into the hospital parking lot. Her water broke as they wheeled her into the labor and delivery room. She was pushing by noon. Her firstborn son was born two hours later.

John always said that Dean was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Mary thought he looked like a drowned sloth.

 

\---

 

Nothing about Sam had been straightforward.

Mary had been more nauseous with Sam.

Her feet had swelled more.

Her back had hurt more.

Sam had kicked more.

Except when Sam had stopped kicking.

Seven months in, the baby had simply stopped moving. Convinced that something was wrong, John and Mary had rushed to the hospital. The sound of a steady fetal heartbeat was the most beautiful thing Mary had ever heard. Apparently Sam had just been taking a rest. The gravid gymnastics had resumed the next morning.

And now, apparently, Sam was coming faster, too.

 

\---

 

She had three contractions on the way to the hospital.

The first happened while she was waiting at a stoplight on 23rd Street. The car radio was on. She focused on the music playing, moaning tunelessly along, her own cries blending with the singer’s falsetto blessing rains in Africa. The light turned green just as the contraction started to fade. The car behind her honked when she didn’t move.

“I’m in the middle of something here, hold your fucking horses!” she shouted through the closed window at the car. The woman in the passenger seat flipped her off as it zipped around her. Mary returned the favor.

The second contraction started as she neared the college; she managed to pull into a parking lot just as it hit. She got her primal scream on, throwing her head back against the seat. With one hand on her stomach, she threw her other hand forward to the wheel, laying on the horn. It didn’t solve any problems, but making more noise felt good.

When the third contraction hit, there was no stop light and no parking lot. She gritted her teeth and kept driving.

“Mary Sandra Campbell Winchester. You have killed werewolves with a dislocated shoulder. You have translated ancient Greek spells with a concussion. You have been cursed no less than three times in your life. You can drive a damn car through a contraction!” she cried as she finally pulled into the hospital parking lot.

She groped blindly for the keys with her right hand as she rolled her forehead back and forth across the wheel. She abandoned the keys when her position leaning forward revealed what she had been dreading.

Reaching down, she touched the crown of her child’s head.

She ripped her underwear out of the way. Dean had been conceived in this car, it was only fair that his little brother or sister was going to be born in it.

Mary collapsed down across the front seat, both hands reaching between her thighs. The next contraction hit as she lay there on her side. The pain rippled across her abdomen, cutting through her like lightning. She needed to push, NOW.  She reached her left leg up, propping it against the wheel of the car and folding in on herself, she bore down. She belated remembered to breathe as the baby’s head pushed out and the contraction faded. She could feel her heartbeat pounding sharply across her stretched groin.

Shifting herself onto her back, she leaned forward as far as she could to look at the baby. Her sore muscles protested the position, but she could see the side of its face.

“Well, you look just like your brother, kid. Another drowned sloth.” She chuckled to herself. Here she was—all alone, giving birth in the front seat of her husband’s car, in the hospital parking lot. She couldn’t even do normal life right. Her chuckle became a roaring laugh as she heard the next song come onto the car radio. The beginning riff of “Bad to the Bone” was unmistakable.

With the next contraction, the baby slid out onto the seat . Mary dragged the infant onto her chest, rubbing it with the fabric of her dress. It wasn’t crying. It wasn’t moving.

Sitting up, she turned the baby around so it was facing downward, and continued to rub and pat it.

She didn’t pray. She didn’t think. She didn’t say anything.

The radio kept playing: “B-b-b-b-bad. B-b-b-b-bad. B-b-b-b-bad. Bad to the bone.”

Finally the little body in her hands squirmed. She heard a gurgle. Then a whimper. Sam took a deep breath and wailed. Mary collapsed back onto the seat and proceeded to cry with her newborn.

That’s where the ER nurses found them five minutes later. She was humming along to the radio, tears streaming down her face, Sam laying on her chest. “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” was playing.

As she shuffled out of the car into their waiting wheelchair, she realized she hadn’t even looked to see whether her child was Samuel or Samantha. As she passed the baby into the waiting, blanketed arms of a nurse, she confirmed that Dean had been right all along. It was a boy.

Samuel Winchester.

Sammy.

  
\---  
  
  
_On the day I was born_  
_The nurses all gathered 'round_  
_And they gazed in wide wonder_  
_At the joy they had found_  
_The head nurse spoke up_  
_Said "leave this one alone"_  
_She could tell right away_ _  
_ That I was bad to the bone

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you wolfinyourbed for being a wonderfully helpful beta reader!
> 
> Also thanks to some friends who were willing to discuss the minutia of "murmering" vs "muttering" in-depth.


End file.
